


What an Idiot

by absinthefae



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 01:23:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/818306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/absinthefae/pseuds/absinthefae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Moriarty regarded John with a small smile, "And he actually thought you cared about him." "Bloody idiot he was."</p>
            </blockquote>





	What an Idiot

An ambulance was parked on the London road, crowds of people surrounding the blood spattered walkway, a single man lying still on the concrete below. James Moriarty sat up with a smirk, smoothing his hair back and wiping a drop of fake blood from his forehead. He stood and peeked over the top of the building, glancing down at the ground. No one would notice him there, they were too preoccupied with the events much further below.  
John Watson glanced up at the top of the building, seeing the dark haired man. He stood, letting Sherlock's pulseless hand fall back to the cold and slightly damp ground, before entering the building and going up the stairs toward the roof.  
He opened the door and stepped outside. The clouds seemed much brighter from up there. On the roof was a large puddle of fake blood, a few stray bubbles coagulating on the surface. Now that it had been used and exposed and dirtied, it looked less like blood and more like melted cherry candy or soda syrup. His light blue eyes met Moriarty's dark brown, nearly black ones before they both burst out laughing.  
"Good work John, I must admit, you nearly had even me fooled." The suited man walked forward and clapped him on the shoulder, wiping a tear of joy from the corner of his eye.  
"Oh psh, I doubt I was that good."  
"It's true! The phone call nearly got me."  
"You told me to try and make it real." His face held a large smile and his shoulders shook with unrestrained chuckles.  
"You did very well John Watson." He smiles and looks over the edge of the building, watching as the people who loved Sherlock Holmes, fretted over his body. LeStrade, Mrs. Hudson, even Mycroft.  
Watson lifted a cigar to his mouth, Moriarty more than happy to light it for him before taking one for himself. "A job well done indeed." John says, blowing out puffs of dark grey smoke that quickly disappeared, blending into the clouds. "Though I must admit, he was a certain amount like you, James."  
"Like me?"  
"Yes, though he wasn't nearly as brilliant."  
"Of course he wasn't, he actually thought you cared about him." The ends of the cigars flared a bright hot orange as they slowly got shorter and shorter.  
"Bloody idiot is what he was." The cigars were stubbed out on the edge of the building and left on the concrete before the pair walked down the stairs, talking and laughing like the friends they were.


End file.
